Close Encounters of the Traveling Kind

They say timing is everything. I say timing is overrated—especially when you’re hungry, barreling down I-81, and trying to snap photos between the glare of truck grills and missed exits.

I found myself heading south through the Shenandoah Valley on a stretch of highway that can only be described as scenic, provided you’re willing to risk your life trying to capture the Blue Ridge while dodging a semi. Between the sky-piercing overpasses and tree-lined ridges, there were moments I wished I had a co-pilot with a better shutter finger. Alas, hunger and highway speeds do not lend themselves to well-timed photography.

Destination: Virginia Tech, nestled in the town of Blacksburg, Virginia. The university has grown substantially over the past couple decades—some might even say doubled in size—but during a summer visit, the campus feels like a giant has taken a deep breath and momentarily exhaled. The students are gone, the sidewalks are hushed, and the pace slows to something that feels vaguely European. Or maybe that’s just the road stiffness talking.

The town itself, normally animated by the pulse of student life, settles into a rare tranquility this time of year. You’ll pass faculty out walking dogs, the occasional cyclist, and storefronts that seem to breathe easier without the rhythm of semester chaos. Blacksburg in summer is the kind of place that makes you remember why people still choose to live in college towns long after their own diplomas have yellowed.

I came for business—visiting with professors and researchers whose work has become increasingly prominent. There’s an energy to the place, even in its quiet. You can feel the institutional ambition humming just under the surface, like cicadas waiting for the next academic cycle to kick in. And despite the university’s expansion, the town has managed to retain its bones: Main Street charm, Appalachian friendliness, and a walkable downtown that doesn’t try too hard.

After a long day of meetings and modestly successful attempts at professional small talk, I managed one last stop—Virginia Tech’s War Memorial, standing solemn and stately under evening lights. The Pylons, as they’re known, rise in tribute to the university’s fallen. Lit from below and flanked by towering trees, they are a sight best seen in person, and preferably when the campus is quiet. They carry a stillness that even the best travel photos can’t quite replicate. I tried anyway.

Next time, I’ll bring snacks for the road and a better grip on my phone.

—Roamwell